Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Ambrose

" O uch," said Ambrose, wincing at the sting as he sat on one of the pool loungers while Bridget dabbed Betadine on his skinned knee. Balian sat next to him, painting his face, the lounger and Ambrose's thigh with a melting green ice block.

Riley laughed from the steps of the pool.

"To be fair," Ambrose said, "I did think it was a snake."

"You did," Bridget said, and looked up at him with her head on an angle as though she were seeing something new in him after all, and not just his inability to tell the difference between a snake and what had turned out to be a very large skink. "Okay, I think you're good to go."

"Eh. I might sit out for a bit."

Bridget rose to her feet and scooped Balian up into her arms. "Still hungover?"

Ambrose gave an affirmative groan. He watched as Bridget and Balian headed back into the water, Balian waving his ice block like a sword. Liam came and sat down on the lounger next to him, looking all damp and tousled and amused .

"Are you going to laugh at me too?" Ambrose asked.

"It was pretty funny," Liam said. His faint smile faded, and he said, seriously, "But also, it was brave."

Ambrose's heart did a weird flip-flop thing at being called brave by Liam. "Nah," he said. "It was a skink."

"But you didn't know that," Liam said.

No, Ambrose hadn't known it. He'd just seen its head, way too close to Balian's little bare foot, and he'd thought it was a snake. So he'd pushed past Liam and careened into the bushes, lifting Balian up and twisting away in the same movement, only to end up tripping and landing on his knees on the rough pebbling beside the pool.

" Snake ," he'd managed, hugging Balian tightly to his chest so he didn't drop him as the baby squawked indignantly at being grabbed.

Liam had been right there, hands held out to help Ambrose up even as he'd scanned the garden beds warily. Orhan and Bridget, probably thinking Ambrose was attempting to abduct their child, had both rocketed out of the pool, only to freeze when they heard Ambrose's pronouncement. Then the undergrowth had rustled, and the shiny silver-grey head Ambrose had spotted before emerged again, except this time it was followed by a shiny silver-grey body…and four legs.

Liam had sagged in relief, like a balloon deflating. " It's a skink ."

So Ambrose felt like an idiot, then and now, but he liked the way that Liam's expression softened when he looked at him. And he liked the way that Liam had called him brave, even if it turned out there had been nothing to be brave about in the first place. He liked?—

Oh shit. There it was.

He liked Liam Connelly.

And he had a feeling that Liam Connelly liked him too, even if there was a good chance he hadn't quite realised it yet.

And suddenly, Ambrose didn't care about being a bad boyfriend. At least not right now, when he thought that Liam felt the same way. So instead of remembering what he was paid to be here for and blurting out something loud and dickish, Ambrose just smiled. Then he reached out, took Liam's hand, and twined their fingers together.

Liam looked startled, but he didn't pull away.

Let him think this was just a little PDA to set the scene for the rest of the Connellys. That was fine.

"This is nice," Ambrose said, and smiled and closed his eyes.

Liam didn't let go of his hand.

Eventually it got too cool to sit around in wet shorts, so Ambrose went inside and got changed. In the spirit of appearing like a terrible person, he left his wet shorts and towel in a pile on the bathroom floor after he'd changed, but his heart wasn't in it, not really. He sat on the closed toilet seat and pulled out his phone, opening his banking app and staring at the five-hundred-dollar deposit from Liam.

He wondered if he should return it—it wasn't like he was doing a very good job of making the family hate him. But then he thought about the power bill stuck on his fridge at home, and Mum's prescriptions that he still had to collect and pay for, and he put the phone away.

" You'll get offered jobs as an actor that you might not like ," his mum had told him when he was growing up, when his budding career had made him worthy of her time and advice, " but you'll take them anyway, because you don't know where they'll lead ." He guessed this was one of those jobs.

He put the phone away and opened the door, almost running into Liam with his fist raised to knock. They stood there for a second chest to chest, the air between them sizzling with something, then Liam cleared his throat and said, "Um, Mum says lunch is ready."

"Right." Ambrose looked down and pulled his phone out, just to have something to do with his hands, and made a mental note to charge it later. "Do you want me to be a bit of a dick at lunch? I mean, it's why I'm here."

"You probably should," Liam agreed. "They almost like you after you saved the baby from the deadly lizard, so you might need to crank it up a bit." He sounded as enthusiastic about the idea as Ambrose felt, and for a moment Ambrose was certain he wasn't the only one who wanted to drop the charade. "Listen?—"

"There you are, boys," Grandad Billy said, a hand settling on both of their shoulders. "Time for lunch, and afterwards I'll take you to see my tractor."

"Is that code for more wine?" Ambrose whispered, stomach lurching at the thought as the hand on his shoulder steered him towards the kitchen.

Liam laughed. "No, Grandad actually has an old tractor he's restored that's practically an antique. He's very proud. Besides, I don't think you could take any more wine."

"Fi says I'm not to intoxicate you anymore," Grandad Billy grumbled.

"Oh, thank God," Ambrose breathed, and Liam laughed again.

Lunch was a barbie, and by the time Ambrose had eaten four sausages in bread, a steak sandwich, and a serving of potato salad, the residual stomach acid from last night was soaked up by the sheer volume of carbs and grease, and he felt almost human again.

He made sure to pull his usual annoying stunts—putting his elbows on the table, licking the serving spoons, slurping his can of Coke obnoxiously—and waited for an opportunity to be a dickhead. But there never seemed to be an opening—either that or he wasn't really trying—because they made it to the end of the meal without him managing to make one outrageous statement. He had to settle for belching loudly, and all that did was make Balian giggle from his highchair.

"So," Marcus said, settling back in his chair and dabbing sauce off his mouth, "Neve and I were thinking about the wedding."

Fi's eyes lit up. "Ooh, yes, have you set a date?"

Neve took Marcus's hand and beamed. "We were thinking about October?"

"That's only six months away!" Fi said.

"We know it's quick," Marcus said, "but I don't want this one to get away."

Maybe it was just Ambrose, but that sounded more creepy than affectionate—like Marcus was a big game hunter, and Neve was an exotic cat to be skinned and stuffed and mounted.

Or maybe it's because I'm still seeing everything through my ‘Marcus is a cheater' filter, and that's colouring everything .

He needed to sort that out. Because while imploding Neve's relationship would be the ultimate dickhead move to pull, he didn't want to hurt her over a misunderstanding.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters who you'll have in the wedding party, Marcus?" Ambrose asked. Please have a sister, please have a sister, he silently prayed, while hoping Liam would just think he was being weirdly personal as part of his dickhead act .

"I've got a younger brother," Marcus said. "But I think I'll ask my mate from school to be my best man. Me and Campbell aren't that close."

"So no sisters?" Ambrose asked. "Or girl cousins? Or lady best friends or work wives?"

Marcus looked at him like he'd grown a second head. His perfect brow creased. "What?"

"I have enough sisters to fill all the bridesmaid positions," Neve said with a laugh. "We were thinking of having the wedding here, of course."

"Of course!" Fi exclaimed, and just like that the conversation moved on to stuff like colour schemes and themes and things that Neve had seen on Instagram, and even Ambrose, who could talk with a mouth full of wet cement, couldn't get a word in.

He caught Marcus looking at him strangely a few times.

After lunch, Ambrose's brain churned with thoughts as he trudged out to the machinery shed over muddy ground with Liam and Grandad Billy to see the tractor. Should he just tell Liam what he'd seen and leave it to him to sort out? Or should he say something to Neve? The trouble was, he didn't know Neve well enough to know how she'd react to something like that. He didn't know any of them, really, only that they were decent people and they didn't deserve the shit he was pulling on them. But then again, they didn't deserve the sort of shit Marcus was maybe pulling, either.

Grandad Billy wrenched the shed door open and grinned. "There now. Isn't she a beauty?"

Ambrose blinked at the orange tractor.

"She's a 1936 Allis Chalmers," Grandad Billy said. "Model U."

"It's very shiny," Ambrose said, and Grandad Billy puffed out his chest proudly. " And it still goes?"

Grandad Billy beamed. "She still purrs like a kitten."

Ambrose stepped forward and ran his hand over the gleaming metal. "I like how you can see right through it," he decided, peering into the engine. "You can see all its bits."

"That's because you had to be able to fix them on the go," Grandad Billy said. "With a couple of bootlaces and a bit of elbow grease. Machines were simpler back then. These days you can open up the bonnet of a car and it's all computerised. Dig around in there with a screwdriver, and who knows what you'll mess up?"

"I can't even change a washer in a tap," Ambrose admitted. "And I've watched YouTube tutorials and everything."

Grandad Billy laughed. "Ah, you'd be surprised what you can do when you need to."

Ambrose was pretty sure he knew his limitations. But, as he listened to Grandad Billy talk lovingly about his tractor, he thought that no, he really wouldn't be surprised by what he was capable of when it was a matter of necessity. And he didn't mean that in a good way. Bad Boyfriend had started out as half a joke, half a public service to girls who were being hassled by dickheads, but Ambrose wasn't sure where the line was now. It was being tested by the Connellys, that was for sure, and Ambrose wasn't liking what it was showing him about himself, and about how far he'd go for money. Asking where Orhan was really from? He hated himself for that. Having to pretend he didn't see Fi's worried expression when she looked at him and wondered if he was good enough for Liam? That hurt a little. And what had Harry said back home? That he should try being an escort like Ambrose? Just because there was no sex didn't mean that Ambrose didn't feel more and more like he was selling a part of himself he couldn't get back. His dignity, maybe.

He wanted this weekend to be real, was the problem. He wanted him and Liam to be real. Just for once, he wanted to be the kind of guy whose boyfriend took him home to meet the parents.

And just maybe, pretending to be a shitty person all the time was starting to make him a shitty person, or at least cloud his judgement when it came to others. Wanting Marcus to be a shitheel of a boyfriend? Ambrose felt like those American evangelists who spent all their time railing against infidelity and it turned out they'd had three mistresses and two rent boys on the side all along—it was all projection.

Maybe Marcus was a perfectly harmless guy whose only crime was being a bit up himself, and Ambrose just wanted him to be a bad guy so he could feel better about himself and his actions—after all, he was only being an arsehole because Liam had asked him to, right? It was all an act, and just because Ambrose happened to be a totally convincing arsehole, that was in no way at all a reflection on who he actually was. Right?

Yeah, nah.

"Penny for them, Ambrose?" Grandad said. "You're miles away, lad."

Ambrose looked up with a start and shoved all thoughts of Marcus away. He was here to be all wrong for Liam, so that's what he was going to do, even if he hated every minute of it. You took the jobs you didn't want. He curled his mouth into what he hoped was a convincing smile, and asked, "Can I drive it?"

The way Liam's eyes widened with shock told him that this was definitely a step too far. Grandad stepped protectively in front of the tractor and folded his arms across his chest. "You can not."

"You may as well have asked for his firstborn," Liam murmured, and bumped their shoulders together.

"But I'm a great driver," Ambrose said, hitting his stride. "You should see me play GTA!"

"What's GTA?" Grandad Billy asked.

"It's a video game," Liam told him. "Ambrose, do you even have a licence?"

"No," Ambrose lied. "Since when do you need a licence to drive? I mean, all a licence says is that you're allowed to, not that you're able to." That's what his mum had said when they'd taken hers off her, anyway. "I've driven a car before. A tractor can't be that different. Especially not an old one like this. I bet it couldn't even go fast enough to hit anything."

"She has a top speed of seven miles per hour. That's all she needs," Grandad said.

"Jesus, could you imagine getting stuck behind it on the highway, though?" Ambrose said. He could almost hear Grandad's hackles rising.

"She's a grand old lady, and she's retired," he said stiffly. "She doesn't leave the property."

"Why do you even have it then?" Ambrose asked. "Why waste time and money restoring it? What's the point?" he asked partly to be obnoxious, but partly because he genuinely wanted to know. In his experience, once something was past its prime, people tended to move on and forget it as they chased greener pastures, brighter stars. He thought briefly of his mum, the way her career had stalled just because she'd committed the crime of having kids and being out of the public eye for too long.

He'd expected to rile Grandad Billy up, but Grandad Billy only studied him carefully for a moment. Then he ran a gnarled old hand over the tractor's fender.

"Because she makes me happy," he said at last. "And she's not useless if she makes me happy. Now, I'm a very lucky man, Ambrose. My life is full of things that bring me happiness. My family, my vineyard, my dog, my wines and even my old tractor here. And I cherish every single one of them, because I know how important they are, and because I dread the thought of living a life entirely without joy."

Ambrose thought it would have been easier to handle if Grandad Billy had lost his temper. This strange softness? He wasn't sure how to react.

"Oh," he said at last, pushing the word out. "I mean, I guess ."

Grandad patted the fender again. "It's also why nobody drives her but me. They wouldn't appreciate her like I do. Some things are only precious to one person, but it doesn't mean they're any less precious."

Ambrose was saved from having to answer by a sudden hammering on the tin roof as the rain started up again. "I guess we're stuck here for a bit," Liam said, glancing up.

"Nonsense. A bit of rain never hurt anyone, and we'll have a nip of port when we get back to the house to warm the cockles. It'll be grand," Grandad Billy said. He shooed them out into the pouring rain with a giant grin.

As he ran up the mud-soaked driveway with cold water pelting down the back of his neck, Ambrose reflected that Grandad Billy was obviously a little bit of a bastard at heart, and Ambrose liked that about him. Then he remembered that he wasn't meant to like him, that he wasn't here to make friends. He was just playing a part.

The thought of spending any more time with the rest of the family and being deliberately obnoxious was suddenly unbearable.

"I don't want to drink any port," he said as they reached the safety of the porch. "I might just go back to the cabin for a bit, if that's okay? "

Liam nodded at him. He looked confused as to why Ambrose had even asked. "Yeah, of course. Are you okay?"

No, I'm not okay. Because I like you, but I'm not really your boyfriend , he wanted to say. And I'm asking your permission because you're paying me, remember?

Grandad Billy, though, nodded sagely. "Need a nap, do you? I'm not surprised. It can take it out of you, saving a poor babby from a snake." He laughed heartily at his own joke and slapped Ambrose on the back with a wet palm, and Ambrose forced a smile.

"That's me, the Steve Irwin of Pokolbin," he agreed. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck in a vain attempt to stop the rain sliding down his shirt. "I'll, um…I'll see you back there."

He turned and bolted for the cabins before he could hear Liam's response.